No Rest for the Weary

"Boss said he'd be happy to have you join us," I told Friend this afternoon. We cleaned today - she did windows while I did baseboards. I continued to move boxes into the garage and we both worked to remove mounds and mounds of dust from the house.

"Is it sad?" Friend just asked of the post I'm writing. "Full of pain?"

"Physical pain," I replied and she nodded, knee brace tugged to her ankle.

"Want to know the lesson for the day?" she asked. "If you only mop once a year? It's very hard." I nodded in reply, remembering how Realtor called this evening and said he'd need to come by tomorrow to take pictures of the house. He's going out of town and then I'm leaving to head north and we're just out of time.

"We'll be ready by 10," I said and heard Friend sigh.

"We just have to clean the kitchen when we get home," I told her and she sighed again. We picked up pillows for the ill-fitting-muumuu couch (pictures to come once we get the slipcover on again) and headed to meet Boss and his wife for a lovely Italian meal. We talked and ate before Friend and I headed back to campus to get the rest of my stuff from the office. I'm down to a single box after shoving the file cabinet into the back seat and two more boxes in the trunk. I tucked my iMac under my arm and placed it in the trunk before leaving. Then I felt a pang as I glanced around my nearly empty desk before heading out to the car again.

"I'm glad you're sad," Boss said as we had salads and pasta. "It's good that you liked being here. But the balance should tip in favor of excitement and anticipation." I nodded at him, thinking that it would. Once all is clean and photographed and I'm done weeping as I head out of town with a too-full car and eager Chienne (she loves to travel), I will be happy and nervous and excited. I hope.

But for now? I'm sad and tired and I hurt.

"I can't turn my head that way," I told Friend as a sharp pain traveled down my spine while I merged into traffic. "My knee keeps clicking," I said later and she said hers had been doing that for days. We're both beginning to hobble, pausing before lifting anything, flopping heavily on furniture when we stop to rest.

"Whatcha doing?" Friend asked earlier.

"Cleaning the floor of the pantry with bleach and old Kleenex," I answered. "I didn't want to get up off the floor. So I'm doing this."

Boss gave me a hug when we finished with dinner. "I'll see you tomorrow," I told him, holding on for another moment before waving at his wife. Given that there are only two tomorrows left here, I suppose the incessant work is necessary. Even if it hurts.